


The Great Divide

by raedbard



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Community: tww_minis, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-31
Updated: 2007-01-31
Packaged: 2017-10-06 23:25:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raedbard/pseuds/raedbard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being the secret record of seven dialogues between two men who were never brothers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Great Divide

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BlackEyedGirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackEyedGirl/gifts).



> Written for blackeyedgirl in the Toby round of tww_minis. (Laura asked for S7 or later, a phonecall or secret meeting about politics and 'Bob'. She didn't want suicidal!Toby or hate!sex.)
> 
> Set mid-S7, before the election.

1.

"You never had anyone who hated you, did you, Josh?"

"I think I really did, actually."

"I think you have no idea."

"Of what it's like to be you? Toby Ziegler, outcast and criminal and son of an outcast and criminal?"

"I think you know about being a rich lawyer's son, Josh. And the rest is an abstract for you."

"Are you saying I didn't work for what I have?"

"No, just that you have no understanding of luck, of the way fortune works. You expect, and it happens."

"That's not true," Josh says.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. And maybe ... "

"What?"

"Maybe if you looked for a win more often you wouldn't always end up this way."

"I should pull myself up by my bootstraps?"

"I just don't think you should walk down the street expecting people to spit on you. Stop ... stop looking for the loss."

"I'm a doorstep darkener, Josh. It's what I do."

Josh always stumbles into it, only half-knowing, but he watches Toby walk there easily, as though he already knows the way, walking with his head high. Josh has known loss not as a part of himself but as a dark friend who steals sisters and fathers and friends but always leaves Josh watching, to bear witness. Toby has, he thinks, been divided in two - half watching, and half a man with his mouth twisted in a scream. Josh can't tell, even now, whether it is a cry of pain or anger or sadness or fear. Josh is afraid of losing this one, afraid as he never has been before, afraid of the change the Inauguration of President Vinick would make in Toby's eyes. He ought to think his friend is bad luck, a stain he does not want near him but he feels instead that Toby will be the only one he will be able to speak to, when it all turns to dust in his hands.

2.

"Don't you think so?"

"You don't know anything about it."

"I think you should go see your father, see your brother's kids. Take Huck and M -- "

"Don't."

"How many times has he seen them, the twins?"

"Andy takes them."

"You should go see him, Toby. Talk to him."

"Because of my father's unique perspective on my situation?"

"Don't you ... Don't you think ... he could help? That -- "

"How could he help me, Josh?"

"Maybe he'd understand, Toby! God knows the rest of us don't!"

"See, it's always better to be honest, Josh," Toby says, his voice spitting into the phone.

"Toby, I'm not apologising to you because my father wasn't a felon."

"And I'm not apologising - again - for my father being alive, Josh. Some things aren't so simple."

"I _know_ that, Toby."

"Yeah?"

"Yes! You keep ... You keep treating me like your twisted experiment in human psychology, Toby! I think you miss the interns too much - no bodies to torture."

"It is hard to terrorise an empty house, that's true."

"So why don't you go see him?"

"No, Josh."

"You can't ever stop being a jackass, can you, Toby?"

"Seems that way."

"Would you do it because I asked you to?"

"Why would I do that?"

"I don't know," Josh says, and hangs up.

Josh doesn't understand what warmth he can get from a coat made entirely from empty air and resentment, but pride is the last fire for such a man and Toby kindles his with care, warms his coat there. Josh wants to kick his pride to pieces, introduce him to loss from the other side and give him a list of all the questions he never remembered to ask his own father, ones that Toby can still get answers for. But he always remembers David before the words come out, and how small Toby felt in his arms the night Huck and Molly were born, and closes his mouth with silence. Josh tries not to be angry, but sometimes he forgets how.

3.

"I tried writing."

"Yeah?"

"It ... didn't work. I can't write to 'Bob'."

Toby chuckles. "It's your dumbass nickname."

"Suits you."

"Yeah."

"You can give me one ... "

"I can take that liberty?"

"If ... if you wanted."

"I like your name fine, Josh."

"Say my name?"

"Josh?"

"Not like that - like ... you know."

"Josh," he whispers, as if onto the skin, as if into Josh's mouth.

Maybe the distance they keep is nothing to do with propriety, nothing to do with Toby's blinds never being drawn in the middle of the day nor the erasure of Josh's phone records, the last thing he does at night. Josh knows that every touch he gives Toby reminds him of the blows given between them, that no words can ever mend. Josh had hoped that talking could halve the wounds but ordinary words are not how they have ever formed a dialogue, never how they have understood each other. And this is why the phonecalls go nowhere, or nowhere kind - not because there is cruelty left in their hearts towards each other, not because they hate, but only because the usual languages have failed them again. When Toby sighs his hard, resigned breaths into the phone, Josh wants to touch him, and be gentler this time, try to prove that a living world is not lost to him; that they could still work it out.

4.

"You don't want this to be about religion, really. Do you? When was the last time you went to shul?"

"What do you _care_, Toby?"

"I don't. I'm just curious. It helps me in my struggle for understanding."

"My relationship to Judaism?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I have one too."

"We're not that different, Toby."

"No, I guess not."

Josh expects, in letters of obligation written deeply into his hands, that he will be the one to say kaddish for his friend. He knows he will get the words wrong, he knows he will lose his own voice in the terrible silence of the shul and step on the cues of the responders and crush their words as well. But he hopes Huck will be there with him, that Molly will be able to hold his sleeve with her fingers as he imagines. Josh knows he will not be a son himself by then and he was only Toby's brother for a handful of years but he will find this song important to give, for such a gifted singer. It will not be his place but he will do it, at temple or in his heart, wrongly either way; two men on either side of a great divide.

5.

"Don't go."

"Why not?"

"You don't want to go, Toby -- "

"Don't I?"

"Oh for -- Toby, he _died_ \- there was nothing you could have done differently. He died and it wasn't your fault. Don't give up, man. Don't go."

"You done?"

"Yeah."

"Those are going to be the last words you say about my brother, Josh."

"No, somehow I don't think they are. Toby, _listen_ to me - don't ... don't do what David did. _Don't go_."

"What do you care?"

"I _care_, man."

"I don't have a choice."

Josh is in the middle of thinking that he almost sounds sad, regret finally filling up his voice, as Toby hangs up the phone.

Toby will stand there, Josh knows, like a man cut from the fabric of the world. Josh thinks, if he looks closely enough, he will be able to see Toby's edges fraying like fine cotton, uneven, as though his own life is the rent in his garment he has made for grief; a shirt he wears every day and nothing left to mend the rip. Josh will want to touch the edges with his fingers and cover Toby's accusations and terrible jealousies with his mouth, swallow them. He thinks he might be able to understand better that way, and wants, very badly, to become the comfort Toby will never ask for, before someone else gets there first.

6.

"So why are you doing this?" Josh asks, desperate for an answer

"Because I want to," he says, and then much softer, in a whisper, "Because it's mine to take."

"We're all yours, aren't we, Toby? You're everyone's big brother."

"No. I had one brother, Josh."

"You want me to call Sam? Ask him what he thinks?"

"Sam doesn't belong to anyone."

"He belongs to you. He always did. He was my -- " Josh breathes in, slowly. "He was my best friend. But only before ... before he was your Deputy."

"So what? You have his number, you call him."

"I want to ask him to come back. If we win ... "

"Communications?"

"No ... I- I want him to be Deputy Chief of Staff."

"Really."

"What do you mean _really_?"

"I don't mean anything, Josh," he says.

"You don't think it's right for him? You don't think Sam could do it?"

"I didn't mean anything, Josh."

"Or you think he won't come back for me?"

"I think he'd do anything for you."

"Maybe."

"Call him."

"Yeah," Josh says. "Hang on - you don't have his number?"

"I didn't -- "

"No, I know, you didn't answer me. Don't you call have his number? Don't you call him?"

"I don't remember," Toby says, distant.

"Doesn't he call you?"

"Not really, no."

"What does 'not really' mean, please?"

"He doesn't call me, Josh. What do you want me to say?"

"I know you were in love with him, Toby."

"Yeah?"

"Yes."

Toby clears his throat into the line. Josh doesn't flinch from the crackle but leans his head into the sound of Toby's breath, into his failure to deny. Though he knows Toby will never love him, not that way, Josh isn't above stealing the warmth from another man's fire.

"Josh ... "

"Don't."

"Come over, okay?" he asks, softly.

"Yeah."

Josh knows what love looks like in Toby's face, how it shifts and hides and avoids declarations as long as it can. There seems nothing that Toby is afraid to say to him, except that one missing thing. And so Josh finds he understands at least one part of the book he thought always closed to him, written as it is in a different language and in an unreadable script: but not so tonight; tonight he at least understands longing, and envy too, as he has always imagined in his uncharitable moments his friend does.

7.

"Why are _you_ doing this?" he asks, as Josh comes through the door of his apartment at a few minutes past midnight, without coffee, bagels, sugar, whiskey, but with only open hands. Toby is wearing a black shirt that shines like silk under his now-bright overhead lights, showing as he turns the secret elegance of the curving of Toby's back, but seeming to swallow his torso into blackness, obliterating him from his open collar to his loose belt, which he pulls at as he stares, unblinking, at Josh. Josh looks up at the ceiling, uncertain; he hadn't remembered such a lot of light.

"You saved me," he says, quietly. Josh feels his hand twitch towards his belly, to the long pale scar. He bluffs; slips his hand into his pocket.

"I found you." He is quiet, unmoved. He stands in the centre of the room and waits for Josh to come to him.

"If you hadn't found me, Toby -- "

"Somebody else would have."

"I'm glad it was you."

"Josh, someone else would have found you."

"You looked ... you could ... " Josh steps into the centre spotlight, underneath Toby's large gold chandelier. On the credenza is an ancient-looking menorah and beside it an ordinary Sabbat candelabra and white, plain candles. Josh wishes they were lit, that the light was softer. He is finding it difficult to form words under this hard glare; he sure he is forgetting how to speak. "You remembered, Toby. You counted."

"You would have done too."

"Nah, I would have been hiding under the nearest car, man!" Josh says, stepping forward again, almost at Toby's breast, letting his arms wave now, letting his step dance. "You looked for me," he says, quiet.

"I couldn't see you. I couldn't ... I couldn't see you."

"I did hear you."

"Huh?"

"I heard you, calling me."

Toby smiles, "So why didn't you answer?"

"I'd forgotten how to speak."

Josh kisses him, and he doesn't know he is angry until he feels Toby's submission, the breath escaping his mouth and passing over Josh's lips. Josh presses his hands hard to Toby's chest, digging in his thumbs and letting his hands slip into fists without a thought, and beating them to Toby's breastbone, hoping that it hurts, and that when he next draws breath, Toby can feel his heart beating too.

The sex stops being like a fight, stops being as it always is, once Josh has bare skin under his fingers. He pushes back, turns Toby against the wall, his arms either side of Toby's head and his right thigh jammed up against Toby's couch. Josh rubs himself into Toby's body and holds him as still as he can when Toby pushes backwards and struggles and tries to turn. He is still wearing his glasses, which sprain on his face as he turns his cheek to the wall, he has ink and newsprint on his fingers and Josh's name very far from his lips. Josh thinks he is muttering _fuck_ over and over under his breath and wants to make a joke, but can't. He changes when Josh pulls his shirt out from his trousers, pushes it up his back and stops, swallows. Toby's back is long, white, and Josh can feel the movements of his breath under his hand, so he stops, and presses his bare arm against Toby's bare back.

"Toby ... "

"Shut up, Josh," he says, like a scratch against Josh's skin. He is hoarse now and the hand Josh slips down to his crotch meets heat and hardness.

"Toby -- "

"Josh, _please_." Toby's voice is muffled, low, but Josh isn't so lost that he can't hear need there, or want to change it for something better.

"You never say please," he says, as he lowers his head to Toby's back, folding his arms around his waist.

"Not usually no."

"But you make an exception for me."

"Apparently."

"And you'd like me to shut up now?"

"Yes."

"_Toby_ ... "

He pushes back into Josh's hands, still asking. Josh holds him, absorbs what he hopes can be passing hate and a brotherhood broken. Josh puts his arms around him and lays his cheek to Toby's back, then kisses him where his waistband begins, then again where he can still see the shadows of his ribs. Toby doesn't moan, doesn't make a sound or a movement under Josh's body, only continues to breathe, one deep intake following each last, for which Josh realises, as he pulls Toby's pants down below his hips, he continues to be thankful.

"Will you ... can you turn round?" Josh asks, in a whisper. "I don't ... I don't want to do it this way."

He turns, eyes still closed. Josh starts again: with his hands pushing at Toby's shirt, popping out the buttons without realising it and pressing his face into the skin revealed. Toby smells and tastes of bitter earth at his throat, and along the dark line of hair that runs the course of his belly and down between his thighs. But blackness suits him, Josh thinks; brings out beauty where it has been often missed - in the difficult curves and lines of his body which Josh finds he needs to look at over and over as, in the darkness, they begin to make sense. So Josh turns off the main light with a brush of his wrist to the switch and continues his kisses by the glow of one table lamp and the streetlight, coming in from between the blinds.

Josh expects aggression from him, could hardly expect anything else in these late days, when everything is strained over ill-chosen words and loyalties neither of them believe in, but what he gets is Toby's submission and a body pushed against his own almost desperately, asking, more like a boy than a man, for Josh to touch him: not eager or demanding but with no expectations, sadly; like one unloved. So Josh does; gets on his knees and puts his hands and mouth to this man has forgotten. He has Toby step out of his pants and shrug them to the side after his shoes, then stands and holds him, laying kisses into his beard and answering his moans by eating them whole. Then Josh tries to kiss him sweetly, as he thinks a woman would; Josh tries to be a lover he thinks Toby would want, even catches himself smiling, wide like sunlight, as he moves from one kiss into the next and has to stop and rest his forehead to Toby's shoulder.

"Josh ... "

Josh looks up at him, into his heavy black eyes. He can't summon the words for the question, so he raises his eyebrows instead.

"Stop trying so hard."

"I'm just -- "

"I know. Just ... stop."

"Toby -- "

Toby animates slowly, like sunrise or a slow breeze, crossing the few inches between himself and Josh with his right hand, which he presses to the side of Josh's face. Toby kisses him, and it is the first time Josh feels possession put its arms around him, and breathe into his mouth.

After. After it is done and there is come on Toby's carpet and Josh's shirt and they have staggered to his bed and closed their eyes and slept, afterwards, Josh says,

"You're just as weird as I thought you'd be."

"And you're ever bit as irritating as I knew you would be. What the fuck do you mean?"

"You're not touching me ... "

Toby turns and stares at him, raises his eyebrows.

"That was ... different."

"_Yeah_."

Josh smiles at him, and nudges his head against Toby's shoulder. His skin is warm and smooth and where Josh had expected hair (across his broad chest and upper arms) there is only soft white space. He kisses the curve of Toby's bicep, then rests his head there.

"Josh?"

"Yeah?"

"What -- " he begins to wave his hands, and Josh starts to grin, "What are you doing?"

"You're not a cuddly sleeper, huh?"

"Not normally, no. And don't use words like that in my house."

"Vocabulary lessons are not a normal post-coital activity, Toby."

"It's my bed."

"You can't make an exception?"

"Josh ... "

"The ... the touching, not the words. I know how words are very important to you."

"Josh."

"Please?"

"What happened to 'please, Josh, please'?"

"I did not say that."

"Well, we'll just play back the tape and see, huh?"

"What?"

"We bugged you," Josh says, "The Government, that is. The Executive Branch. CJ told me. It's the National Enquirer for us now, my friend."

"Shut up, Josh."

"What, you don't like spy jokes?"

"I can't imagine why not."

"Toby ... "

"Oh for the love -- "

"God, I'm not asking you to sign a marriage contract, Toby!"

"But you should, because those have worked out so well in my life."

"We'd have to move to New Jersey."

"They wouldn't like you there."

"What do you mean?"

"Just trust me, Josh. It wouldn't work out."

"I would prosper and thrive in New Jersey, Toby. I would be a player and a role model."

"You have some numbers on that?"

Josh smiles and rests his head back at the roundness of Toby's shoulder. Toby sighs, then pulls his arm out from under Josh's head, and rests it around him, with his palm covering Josh's hair.

"Will you be alright, man?"

"Yeah."

"You sure?"

"Yes."

"Okay."

"You'll shut up now?"

"Yes."

"Okay."


End file.
